Afterparty by Daryl Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

would have preferred to do all their business through text, but the employer was an old-fashioned man who wanted to hear a voice. Vinnie thumbed the connection. After a moment, the call went through, and the employer picked up.
    “Is the Vincent available?” the employer said. He knew that the Vincent did not like to be ordered around. He liked to be asked.
    Vinnie looked down at the crate of calves. He’d planned on finishing the branding. Then he was going to move the herd to the back bedroom where the carpet was high, so he could use the living room to set up a new breeding area for the two-year-olds. He’d never gotten his herd to breed, despite spending thousands on the highest-rated bulls. It frustrated him to be dependent on lab-grown stock, and upon the money that the Vincent’s jobs provided. Someday he’d live off his herd, like a true rancher.
    “How long is the engagement?” Vinnie asked.
    His employer said, “A few days at most. I want him to talk to someone in Toronto.” Talk. One of those kinds of jobs, then. Most of the time the Vincent met people. Sometimes he saw them. Talking was a rarity, but it paid the best.
    “Okay,” Vinnie said. “Send the details. The Vincent can leave tomorrow.”
    The employer said nothing for an uncomfortable moment. Then he said, “If it’s at all possible, I’d like him to be on the ground tonight.”
    Now it was Vinnie’s turn to insert an uncomfortable pause. Buying an international plane ticket at the last minute would raise the Vincent’s air travel threat score. Also, would there be enough time for the Vincent’s pills to kick in? And what about the calves?
    The employer said, “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t of the utmost importance. I’ll of course include a bonus for express service.”
    Vinnie breathed out. “Okay. I’ll tell him.” By tradition, Vinnie pretended to be the secretary for the Vincent. The name Vinnie was never mentioned by either of them. The conceit was that the Vincent was too badass to ever talk on the phone.
    The employer hung up, and Vinnie rested his forehead on the edge of the table and stared at the floor.
    One of the miniature calves in the crate bleated. Vinnie wouldn’t have time to brand them now, and he wouldn’t be around to watch over their integration with the herd. He’d have to release them to the prairie and hope for the best. In a few hours he wouldn’t care about such things, but he did now, and he would again when he returned.
    He told his pen to search for available flights, then sent an email to his neighbor down the hall. He made sure that the branding iron was turned off and unplugged. What next? The Poomba. He detached the robot from its charger and set it down in the high grass. The little flying-saucer-shaped device did nothing for a moment, but then its sensors caught a whiff of methane, and it swiveled left and rolled slowly forward, the grasses bending before its rubber bumpers. The herd sometimes got spooked by the machine, but what could he do? Without it the whole apartment would fill up with tiny buffalo chips.
    He left the apartment, always a nerve-racking experience, and walked two doors down. Al answered wearing only a pair of UNLV basketball shorts, his hairless rounded gut like the dome of a mosque. He was a Hispanic man a foot taller than Vinnie and a hundred pounds heavier, even with the lightweight titanium leg. Like so many men of his age and income bracket, Al had participated in Operation Enduring Freedom, which he’d described as an international limb-exchange program sponsored by the American government.
    “I’m going to be gone for a few days,” Vinnie said. “I was wondering if … well…”
    “You want me to watch the critters?” Al had served as emergency ranch hand on two occasions. He wasn’t Vinnie’s first choice for the position, but he had two important qualifications: He was always home, and he always needed money.
    “I’d really appreciate it,” Vinnie